Well, it’s been a while. To be honest, I almost gave up this blog thanks to time constraints and my ever increasing lack of motivation.

I turned 29 and was shocked to find that I still had a pulse. Especially after the copious amounts of beer that I consumed…

…But I digress. Anyway, the job hunt continues (unsuccessfully, I might add – overqualified times a jazillion; how does one go about successfully undervaluing themselves?) and I am creeping closer and closer to burnout. More layoffs…further proving that I need to jump ship, ASAP.

In other news, I am going to officially be an auntie to twins! Yes, the IVF worked and my sister is on the way to mommyhood. I am ecstatically happy. And big enough to admit to twinges of jealousy. Sometimes I feel as though I am a ball of envy.

I’ve committed myself to living a healthier lifestyle and losing the weight I gained over the past few years. I was playing that game of ignoring the problem, but a bad lab test and a frank conversation with my doctor have strengthened my resolve.

There is this guy that I work with. He’s got a big, loud mouth with a grating voice and tends to be a bit of a spazz. You know – he’s pretty much obnoxious whenever he opens his yap. And from the few conversations that I’ve had with him (very few – I think we’ve had more arguments than friendly conversations) he seems to have a pretty high opinion of himself. He disdains dating women who make less money than him – I mean, honestly, shallow much? Sure, I’m not inclined to have a committed relationship with someone who is happy to work at 7-11 for the rest of his life….but not because of money. Because of motivation, aspirations, and above all DRIVE.

But for some reason, I totally want to jump him. It’s like I’m masochistic or something. I want to grab him, throw him on the floor, duct tape his offensive mouth and rape him. Whenever I see him – or even hear him, for shit’s sake – I have visions of bodily attacking him. I want him to be my Booty Call. Now. This very second, as I write this.

Did I mention, I have a strict personal policy about not mixing business with pleasure? I have avoided the relationship-at-work trap for ten years and try my best to keep it that way, because I’ve been a part of the mess it can cause in the end. I’m also selfish enough Not to want to be friends with someone I loved after things go bad – over to me is Over. It’s my prerogative. I do not want to be teased with the presence of a former love.

One might assume that the sexual attraction is the result of a smokin’ hot body. One would be wrong. He’s not built; he’s actually on the scrawny side and, though I haven’t seen him shirtless (there goes the imagination again *sigh*) I doubt that there’s much muscle on him at all.

And yet I still want to ride him like a cowboy on a bucking bronco. Badly. What makes him extremely intolerable also makes me want to have dirty, sweaty sex with him. Apparently, I am a twisted person.

In other news…

I am horrified to report that I have gone up a bra size. I have never gained weight in my chest, and I’ve always been happy for that fact. But not anymore – not only am I no longer thin, I’m also a 36-D. Fuck. Three C-cup bra’s in my dresser drawer are now officially too small for me – the question is, do I stash them with my size 4 slacks that I know I’ll fit into again Some Day or do I give them away to someone with breasts in need?

The upside of the inflating breasts realization is the new bra’s. I bought a girly bra for the very first time in my life in a desperate attempt to make my own boobs look more attractive. To me. Because you know nobody else is going to see it.

Well, unless I throw caution to the wind and jump Mr. Obnoxious in the supply room….

So Jo, who left me a comment (thanks Jo!) brought ICI to my attention. I didn’t realize that this was another option to knocking oneself up.

So my question now is: ICI or IUI? From what I’ve read, ICI is cheaper but the chances of conception are decreased in comparison to IUI. Is ICI the method used for home insemination programs (I presume…)?

It’s so frustrating not to have someone local to answer all my questions: like, for example, wait times for these sorts of procedures in my area. Is it going to take a year for me to even get in to see someone at a fertility clinic? I think there’s only one in Edmonton (which is the city closest to me)…is that correct? And how long does it take to get through all the pre-screening before even having an IUI (or ICI) done?

I submitted my ‘application’ to join the ChoiceMom’s yahoo group over a week ago and still haven’t been approved, nor have I gotten any further communication since. I just have so many questions that need more than general answers….

BFF just called me from the hospital. She went in at about 6:30 this morning for Baby #2, a little girl. She is 8 cm and the healthcare personnel think that things are going to happen very quickly!

I haven’t given much background on BFF yet…guess I should get to that. And what better opportunity?

After College, I worked for about a year in Geriatrics before finally admitting that it wasn’t where I wanted to be. So I picked up a temp position as a Receptionist at a large Corporation in the meantime; the position ended up going permanent and a few months later I was transferred to Finance.

I ended up in a cubicle next to BFF. Have you ever sat down next to someone and felt as though you’d done it a million times? There was no hesitancy or akwardness between BFF and I; it was like we’d known each other our whole lives. Somehow, our intense differences compliment each other – she is quiet and low-key, I am boisterous and outgoing. She calms me, and I bring out her silly side. BFF is that once-in-a-lifetime friend.

Girls, you know what I mean.

The friend who will keep an eye out for you during a Christmas party, when you are totally ripped and she is playing it sober. She holds your hair back out of your face when you’re sure you’re about to puke, and rubs your back the whole time. She’s the one who encourages you, repeatedly, to join online dating sites and go to speed dating, even offers to take her married self with you, anything just to make sure you are open to it. She takes you for a makeover and helps you shop for clothes after you’ve gained forty pounds, and then she finds stuff that makes you look good. Damn good.

In her own subtle, wonderful way, she lifts up your self-confidence.

She’s the friend you call when there is nobody else who understands….when you break down and do something you rarely do, Cry, because the Paternal Non-Influence has had a heart attack. Chic is devastated and trying to sway you over to the dark side, playing on your guilt and feelings of obligation, and you are so confused because what if he dies and you look back ten years from now and have nothing but regrets?? BFF listens in sympathy, and what little she says is just right.

And she’s the person you go to, even before your sisters, when you make the huge decision to pursue Donor Insemination. Because you know, you just feel in your heart, that she is going to cheer you on.

And she does.

BFF is the one I can say anything to, good and bad. She doesn’t judge me or whisper my confidences in other ears. I can say the most ridiculous things to her, and she has yet to think that I’m an escapee from a mental institute. With BFF, I can be myself, completely.

BFF’s mother died of a horrible disease when my friend was a child*. Because of this, BFF had decided, as a teen, not to have kids…but then she got married. And everyone around her started having kids. And BFF came to me one day, upset and worried, and I listened in sympathy and what little I said was (I hope) just right.

And here we are, four years later, and BFF is at this very moment bringing her second child into this world. My Best Freaking Friend is going to have another beautiful baby**. I’m going to be an honorary auntie for the second time.

For you, my BFF. I love you.

Update: Aubrey Jane was born an hour and a half ago! Six pounds, twelve ounces, 19 inches long and a thick, dark head of hair just like her older brother🙂🙂
Momma and baby are well but have to stay in the hospital until Friday – Mom had an infection and they are going to be closely monitored.

*It is not my right to disclose personal information about BFF. I keep her confidences just as well as she keeps mine.

**Is it horrible for me to say how incredibly envious I am right now? How even at this minute I can’t help but wish desperately that it was me?

When I’m not obsessing about babies, I’m spending time at what I do best:

Dahlia

Gardening is one of my favourite things to do. I love every aspect of it, from planting and pruning to watering and weeding. There is something extremely therapeutic about just digging my fingers into the cool, dark soil and turning it over.

Daisies

My spring blooming perennials are pretty late this year, thanks to the snow that we had in May. But in the next week or so, my Iris’, Peonies, Lilies and more will be in full bloom and ready for pictures!

In the meanwhile, though, it’s nice to know that every once in a while my garden surprises me.

I’ve been doing a lot of reading in my quest to be as informed as possible about DI. I’ve read the articles that vilify SMC for willfully creating a family unit that doesn’t include a paternal influence, the blogs from kids who are trying to find information about their paternal donor, stories from children who speak positively of being raised by a Mom who went through IUI and heartwarming stories from the Mothers. Any and every angle, black and white and grey.

I like to think that I have a unique perspective as a child of a single (divorced) mother. You see, until my fourteenth birthday I was raised in an extremely toxic household – and the ideal of a family. Dad, Mom, three children. Two cats and two dogs. My Mom was at home until I was about 4, we lived in nice houses in the country and from the outside looked like the perfect little family. But my paternal influence was physically and emotionally abusive, as well as an alcoholic. I cannot call this man my father, even though he was ‘Dad’ for the first sixteen years of my life; now, he is just some man who has a relationship with one of my sisters, and is a constant source of heartache for the other.

My Mom, my wonderful, brave, capable Mom tried to leave with her kids several times. I remember the final time with such clarity; my petite mother packing us up, him coming home suddenly after a phone conversation….she locked the door and the snow shovel became a weapon. To this day I can still hear the tinkle of glass and the utter, absolute fear. My life truly began the moment we got in her car and drove away from that house, that prison in hell.

I still wear the scars, hidden under the competent, independent exterior that my Mom instilled in me. For so, so long I had no self-confidence to speak of, I truly believed myself to be worth nothing. Dumb, ugly, and unworthy of love. I had to fight, tooth and nail, for the belief that I now hold in myself. I had to build my own self-image from the bottom up and still fight against worthlessness, to this moment. This very moment.

I have difficulty committing myself to another person. Trust is not something that comes easily to me, and I am unable and unwilling to give my independence away. I have never lived with any of my past boyfriends. One ex-, at the end, threw in my face that I am unwilling to ask or accept help. The one man that I loved lived 4200 km’s away from me and wasn’t strong enough to handle a long-distance relationship. He was the only man that I ever cried over, and the one that I still miss, to this day. I have seen psychologists about my emotional responses and it’s something that I continually work on, every time I meet a man.

My sisters, too, have had their characters shaped by the paternal influence. Chic is 30 and has already been through one marriage, which ended partially because she had an affair. She has never had a relationship with herself, and is incapable of living without a man. Petra Pan bounces from bed to bed, having sexual relations with men she works with, even married men, unknown men in bars, visits to the clinic the following morning for pills……and I close myself off, exuding an invisible line that Shall Not be Passed.

Because of the man who was my father for sixteen years, until I finally had enough and made the adult decision to exclude him from my life.

So when I read about the statistics and the sarcastic articles about the effects of single parenting – and that includes any form of single parenting – I can’t help but disagree and, well, get a little bit pissed. Because it’s not being raised by a single mother that accounts for my emotional scars, it’s being raised in a cookie-cutter family unit with a father that explains me. And because when I was younger, I thought it was just me that grew up in a dysfunctional family…until I learned, through my friends, that everyone’s family has it’s obstacles. No matter how many people are in that family unit, or what gender they are.

The conclusion that I’ve come to is that having a traditional family is no guarantee of well-adjusted, successful children. It’s quality, not quantity, that’s important.

And you want to know what? Thanks to the quality of The Greatest Single Mom. Ever. I’ll be just fine.

I made a conscious decision for my future as a mother and it has opened up the floodgates. Stop, rewind…suddenly I feel twenty four again, full of hope and possibility. Arms wide open, ready to humble myself on the steps of motherhood. The world is my oyster and I’m ready to swallow it whole!

But.

Ahh, there’s always a but. At twenty four, I surely had two hundred years ahead of me and there was a single (free) man on every street corner. My older and somewhat wiser self knows what a fallacy this is, and is constantly living in the crosshairs of time. So I am all “Y-hea! I can make it happen, I’ll be a Mom one way or another in three years or sooner I just have to be patient!” and “Dee-dee-dee-dee-do-dee-dum (that’s the Jeopardy theme BTW)….tick tock tick tock what are you waiting for do it NowNowNOW!”.

And it’s. All! that I can think about.

When I’m in the decision stage of something (whether it’s a purchase or an opinion) I can take months, and even years, investigating every angle of my options. But once I’ve made an informed decision, I tend to get very impatient and work to make things happen as soon as possible. My patience, which is legendary, disappears. I jump in the deep end fully clothed and race for the finish line.

It’s difficult to hold myself back, to not just jump into it and start working on becoming pregnant. Every day my heart finds excuses why I need to start the process immediately, while my head desperately injects logical reasons why I Have to wait. I had a Dr.’s appointment a few days ago and didn’t discuss the decision with her; it was a way to hold back, to try and pace myself (and also because my Doctor is a very religious lady, and I’ll admit to concern about her reaction). When it nags at me, I remind myself of the house I’m saving up for, the multitude of steps I need to traverse to ensure that I can provide a child with the basic, necessary securities.

So I thought, why not make a list? Something that I can go to when impatience overrides my better judgement? A list of the goals I want to achieve before I begin the process of becoming a mother*:

– Buy a house. Nothing large, nothing fancy – all I want is a nice big yard so that I can garden and my dogs have an area to chill.
– Pay off my car loan. By summer 2010.
– Clear my credit card debt by year end 2009.
– Find a job that is less stressful and closer to my home town (I currently drive about an hour – in good traffic – to work round trip. I am in Credit / Collections in the oilfield sector, and my job is extremely stressfull with a huge amount of overtime)
– Begin dog grooming course in Sept/09 and finish Apr/10
– Get more fit and eat healthier! (be one with breakfast…ugggg)

I am not giving up completely on finding Mr. Right; I still have three years after all!!
I just have to last three years…..